


Indéniablement Magnifique (DISCONTINUED)

by Unorthodork



Category: Overwatch (Video Game)
Genre: Attempt at Humor, Eventual Smut, F/F, F/M, Injury Recovery, Light Angst, Major Character Injury, Other, Relationship(s), Violence
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-08-17
Updated: 2016-09-20
Packaged: 2018-08-09 08:26:59
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 2
Words: 14,779
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7794598
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Unorthodork/pseuds/Unorthodork
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Amélie Lacroix was a complex woman living life of a same manner, as you'd expect when being married to the Overwatch agent holding the fight against a terrorist agency, a key member of it all as well. The same man she'd wed had his blood on her hands, as the same organization brought true the standard part of wedding vows in regards to life and death, ridding him of his and giving her a second one as she lives by the code name Widowmaker. She'd never intended to later fall for a woman on the opposing side of the wall, however her life was just as paradoxical as hers and the strings that kept both women attached were stronger than diamond. A three day wait for an important mission brings light to the situation and begins a new era for Amélie's life yet again.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. The Setup

_"You do not feel,"_ Reaper once claimed during the break of dawn, the sun rearing it's head over the horizon,  _"Emotions construct a form of weakness we can **not** afford to have."_

Often do I receive lectures over such a topic, as if to remind me of who I am and condemn a former shell of me from returning. Lest that happens, otherwise I would be sat upon the electric chair in Talon's _pathétique_ excuse for a medical lab, thousands of voltage coursing through tampered veins until the pain dissipates. I desire not to see that chair for the  _quatrième_ time, as cruel punishment constructs or strengthens vital qualities.

For example, self restraint and dishonesty are imperative when dealing with Talon superiors. Such includes the scientists who participated in my neural reconditioning. At first, they would monitor my behavior extensively and summon me weekly for prescriptions, yet now as I've become preeminent at my expertise, they're left within my residence (One not too special to gawk at, neither) for me to take as suspected. Recently, it's been untouched as a result of two things;  _Tracer and my padlocked past._

"You were like them once," Gabriel Reyes let acid drip from his ghostly tongue with each syllable, not that he knew I was aware of his real name as well. I'd most likely be sent to the chair strictly for speaking his name. "Sentimental, impulsive..Those are two things I've held indifference towards for years now." There was a stretched silence that followed this statement.

"One of those inferior people made me who I am, that day death had walked among  _me._ I embraced this however, something none of them could do if they tried." Had I not known any better, I would question the reminiscent twinge to his tone laced by remorse and melancholy, the display of emotion hypocritical to this very conversation. Another pause, feather light breathing paradoxical to his usually brash, obnoxiously loud tone and labored exhales.

I must thank Talon for my enhanced senses, if I missed a single microscopic detail such would make Reaper a fly who avoided the Widow's web, and no one can hide from my sight with such ease..except for Tracer. The hesitation in his words, tensed muscles beneath his cloak, this man's spiteful mutineer was being held captive by his own sensibility. I may not be one to speak, as I've been experiencing new emotions I've barely recognized as love in faint memories I can't quite latch onto. Completion stands on an equal plane as the kill, how alive I feel in result, and yet what I've grasped leaves a nagging ache of a job half-done in the pit of my unhurried heart I feel with each beat. Recollection of a man's hands grasping mine, small affectionate gestures, a blissful warmth spreading over my chest and face. Although very faint and too far to properly grab, but these memories are there as Amèlie Lacroix, not the cold-blooded assassin Widowmaker. Her heart does not beat, and yet an annoyance who bends time at her will captivates me and increases the rate in which my heart truly beats, brings confiscated memories to the surface yet with a new fire alighted, a flame that burns brighter.

"Anyways," He looked away from the double doors ahead, training his focus on me, "Talon operatives have an EMP Bomb payload to escort, destination is the Underworld in King's Row, blowing up the omnics inhabited there." I rolled my eyes at the not-so subtle change of subject, a small upturn at the corner of my mouth, a knowing smirk angled towards my right. "I've assigned you as our cover, ready your rifle and be in the area by the end of today. You're getting three days to set up, my generosity. Do _not_ take this for granted nor expect any more of it." My tone was acerbic as I retorted to the seemingly kind offer, "How generous of you to allow me a  _vacances_ , Reaper. How shall I ever repay _toi_?" "Cute. How about you get the job done? The failed gauntlet heist in Numbani? Let's not let history repeat itself." The fifty-six year old man's snarky riposte was taken with a grain of salt.

_Foolish, is he not? Don't you know I'm aware of your affiliations, your past? Très insensè._

One wouldn't strike me nosy, however I have snooped around classified Overwatch files thanks to a certain bubbly Brit's clumsy placement of her belongings. You'd assume someone who could manipulate the fabric of time with her very being would think _ahead_ of time,  _non?_ Lena Oxton has never taken such precautions, not with the flex of a muscle nor smart-aleck behavior. Perhaps it's because of that gift of time? Bending it at her will with that damned Chronal Accelerator strapped to her chest, nestled between her bosom as it emits a soft, constant blue glow I can't help but ogle at.

_How does she wear a bra with that catastrophe in her way? What kind does she wear even, a comforting fabric hiding such beauty from my eyes? Or a risque, lacy one with the intent to tease and pry at my hinges?_

I shake my head to ward away such distracting inquiries, as the hot pressure in my core arising from pondering on these things made desire run thick, desire I could not satiate at the moment. Against my programming, upon sneaking into the criminalized organization's base I looked through files such as the Omnic Crisis, Overwatch Disbandment, Blackwatch, and a zipped folder containing event logs from the Slipstream incident. Each file held strings attached to other topics and members, deceased and active all together, in which to my delight the last one being linked to my not quite rambunctious rival.

Twenty-six years old and standing at a mere 5'4" correlated to myself, bred in the heart of London, King's Row is Lena Oxton. Proudly associated with (The newly reassembled) Overwatch under the call sign Tracer, agent ID 3945_50, I warmly recall coming across a photograph of the woman from her younger years working in the experimental flight program, standing beside her fighter jet with an outfit to match.

Meritorious and gutsy piloting rewarded Oxton handsomely; Not only was she the youngest inducted into the project, but the leading aviator to operate the newly developed fighter-jet  _Slipstream._  An ego booster it must have been to knowingly have been handpicked by executives to jockey the first flight, but alas, the teleportation matrix malfunctioned. Subsequently, Tracer went from a mere mortal to a ghost suffering from Chronal Disassociation. Such was handled well, as the stellar 'scientist' Winston forged a device capable of anchoring her to the current time flow, whilst being able to manipulate her own.

I'd printed out that picture for safe-keeping that day I went on my research heavy base investigation.  _What a gorgeous sight for sore eyes you are, chèrie._

My heart fluttered initially, my heart rate going at an unfamiliar pace as warmth enveloped said tampered organ, butterflies happily exploring the pit of my stomach. In the moment it revolted me how I swooned so avoidably over such an annoyance, a fly who flew eagerly into my web yet crowded my sights with a smile so spacious it could devour her other features whole. Yet, I longed for her touch and affection, to witness her crack a disastrous spider pun with a smile on her face.

Fond memories of shared tongue-heavy kisses, flirtatious remarks, light gropes from the soft hands I would smack away on impulse. All of it gives me copious amounts of dopamine programming could never compete with. Not only must I thank Talon for my enhanced senses as prior mentioned, but that animal as well for keeping my dearest Lena here with me..Overwatch is not so bad, I suppose.

Motionless in Talon's monotone briefing room, my left hand holding up a bent arm with a balled fist covering my mouth in a pondering manner, I decide to pay this dismally intoxicating woman a visit as I then let my arms fall daintily to my sides. Rotating and approaching the usual exit I take when in need of a quick departure, I step out onto the balcony after leaping over the mid-height bars that sectioned it off with the poise and dexterity of a black cat, now outside on the left portion of this second floor the prior mentioned room is stationed in. Two metal clanks and a cool breeze clashing with skin not previously there confirms the start of my personal commission. Chest rising with a slow, appreciative inhale and eventual exhale, I latch onto a far rooftop with my grappling hook and follow the retracting cord to it's destination. 

## |Tracer's POV|

_Egh, what time 's it? My 'ead feels like it's filled with absolute rubbish! My body's achin' too.._

Blinds drawn and shut with a cubed bedside clock containing red, holographic illuminated numbers that made my brain pulse even more than I'd wish it did, I groggily turned my head towards the object on the small left bedside dresser and groaned in exasperation.

_It's 8:45 in the bloody morning! No one but Angie's up this early, and even 'hen it's Friday, she's probably face first into her desk. I won't be able to get any meds for this hangover..bollocks._

Flipping over onto my back amid closing my eyes again to ease my cogent migraine, I arch upwards with an involuntary satisfied sigh easing out as a few bones crack and pop, my back being a bit less tense now as I returned to lying flat on the mattress. The grin on my face was wide, minus my brain hittin' my skull and being hungover, I was pretty damn happy!

 _Bein' up in the mornin' ain't so bad as I cracked it up to be._ "Rise and shine,  _ma chèrie_ , haven't your parents told you it's not good to lie in bed all day?"  _What in bloody hell?!_

I nearly jumped up out of my bed, sitting up and suddenly being dangerously close to surprise visitor's beautiful face. "Oui! Do you ya a've to faff me so early in the morning, luv? You almost gave me a heart attack!" I yelped in shock upon seeing a pale blue face inches away from mine, standing over the right side of my bed, slightly bent over to reach me.  _Not that I don't like seeing her early like this, especially this close. How could I when she's bent over for me? In a innocent way for now._ Blood rushed to my cheeks a bit as I ignore to the greatest lengths the dirty thoughts arising in my mind, hoping the analytical woman doesn't notice.

She looked me up and down for a brief second, maybe pleased with the sight of me in a baggy tee and boy-shorts. "Perhaps such was my intent, chérie," Amélie cooed with a trace of affection in her sultry alto tone, frigid fingertips sending shudders through my spine as she palmed the left side of my face, a thumb resting on my jawline all with her right hand. "Did you know it's easy for a spider to hunt their prey whilst they sleep?" Even if she's cold, and saying something most people would find bonkers, I swear I could melt under her surprisingly tender touch. "Oh yeah? Well you like me alive, 'nd if ya keep touching me like this I might not tell ya to bugger off," I cracked as cockney as ever in hopes my irresistible companion would play the femme-fatale role and seduce me already.  _Or let me dom her, whatever works for me!_

"Wipe that  _insensé_ grin off your face, you're not getting that lucky so early," "Why don't ya make me already, luv? I've been yours for the taking for too long anyways." Masked behind irritation was a pure cloud of arousal, or whatever I'd seen in her eyes moments before our lips connected and tongues collided in a hurried fight for dominance. Amélie may be quite the triumphant seductress and play her femme-fatale role well, but my lustful vigorous grasp on her backside during our kisses proves me worthy of fighting this ongoing battle. I'm no stranger to being in bed with a woman, but I know she is, and that gives me a big upper hand here.

On rare lucky occasions, atop the roof of a moderately high building I'll feel icy slender fingers work their way up and down the small of my back, making me go absolutely  _barmy_ and I'll admit, whimper helplessly in need like a school girl with her hormones all scattered about. We both fancy a rough game, and she's a jolly tricky one to play unless you know how to push her buttons. In such a case, I know it leaves her gobsmacked when I give her sizable arse a firm squeeze to make her gasp during our kiss, suckling on a plump bottom lip in turn of hearing a sincerely delighted moan. Sadly I didn't do all that this time 'round, but when the time's right I sure will. 

_We 'aven't snogged yet, but boy would I love to! I'd be lying if I said I hadn't thought of it a million times neither._

We parted lips and I shot her a grin, starting to say something with the intent to run the show and make her knees weak like jelly. Our lips crashed together scarcely seconds before I could let a sound out, Amélie's tongue hungrily forcing it's way into my mouth all over again and drawing small circles on my own with the tip of hers, tracing every detail as if she'd never get the chance to again. " _Tais-toi, mon chérie_ ," She whispered into my right ear as warmth spread and blood rushed quickly to my cheeks, her breath tickling as her hands ran through my hair with nails scraping my scalp before I gasped in retaliation to a firm tug of my spiky, chocolate locks that exposed my neck fully.

"A night of drinking, I presume? Reinhardt Wilhelm, Angela Ziegler, and Torbjörn Lindholm often invite you out to a local pub." It was more of a statement opposed to a question, but I nodded in response as I turned a rosy shade of scarlet, defining the freckles dispersed about my cheeks and the bridge of my nose. "Blimey! Ya sure invest your life in me, eh luv?" "Approximately thirty freckles occupy the space beneath your _remarquable_ amber eyes, does that satiate your curiosity?" I could only swallow in a vain attempt of hiding the surprise in my voice, mouth suddenly parched as I nodded in response.

_Damn, maybe she loves me as much as I love her? Oh bloody 'ell, I sure hope she does._

An unexpectedly warm tongue ran across the pulse point on my neck, eliciting the smallest of moans from me as I felt a dull ache grow down yonder, arching my head back to expose more flesh and closing my eyes in pleasure. It continued on for a moment, a hickey nearly left behind until, yet I'd made a small whine in protest following due to the sudden lack of contact I've been waiting for.

"I need to reside here for the ensuing three days," She announced abruptly, my eyes springing wide open as I appeared next to the French woman in a blue blink. "Are you takin' the piss? Talon would track you down and find me, then Overwatch, and do who knows what else!" Tone overwrought and uneasy, I ponder each risky aftermath there could be upon taking Amélie in, even if it's only to last three days. " _Mon chérie_ , your possible torment should be the least of your worries. I've been briefed a mission to cover Talon on a EMP payload delivery to the Underworld, I hold high calculations such an occurrence will wreak havoc among King's Row's Omnic Rights society, _non?_ I was told to hide out in the area for preparation, I wanted to warn you."

A horrid flashback, screams of sheer terror erupting from the crowd as dismay took over their preceding merry expressions, the boom of a rifle filling the air as Mondatta's robotic figure fell midway into his limousine. The negative recollection made shivers run down my spine, Omnic rights are real big here to us Brits, so big something like that could easily knock everyone back far on their bums. Even I'm jolly with my pal Bastion and Tekhartha Zenyatta working alongside me. Torbjörn and other less Omnic encouraging Overwatch agents give me a lot of flack, occasionally trying to bung me into agreement, however I've never let that change my views.

"Why don't ya go to a flat or somethin', why me?" I questioned as I cocked my head to the side, awaiting a response that took a bit to come. My partner sighed and looked away for a brief second, returning her gaze to me and saying promptly. "I may or may not enjoy your company, if you let me stay however, never mention this confession." My signature smile spread wide, the bubbly excitement back as I nodded enthusiastically and said deal with an equal amount of vigor, shaking her hand and pulling her into a surprise embrace.

" _Je vous remercie_ , Lena," I heard her gather the will to overcome her pride and say, slender firm arms wrapping around me in return rather than pushing me away as I expected. Such is a pleasant shocker, my heart pumping away. Amélie's always made me twice as boisterous as Winston claims I am, accent and posture having always been jolly anyways, but the type of jubilant energy I have around her is much different than my stationary attitude.

Widowmaker's composure presents her as a patient, sedated woman whose life purpose is to fulfill a Terrorist organization's desideratum, in which is merely programmed into her being. I've not a clue what she remembers from her time as Amélie, before her personality was stripped away from her, yet I've always felt obligated to help her be  _her_ again since I looked into piercing golden irises devoid of life. Amid sort of straddling her on that rooftop and seeing her expression distort into that of an evilly prideful executioner due to witnessing my distraught, distant mourning cries from the large crowd below toying with my psyche however boosting hers, I subconsciously briefed myself the mission to undo the wicked torment they've put Amélie through. I've loads of times bothered our field medic on 'bout appointing my beloved French (I don't call her that 'round doc, she'd throw a bloody wobbler!) to some therapy of sorts as an attempt to reverse all of Talon's conditioning.

* * *

 

"Hiya, Angie! Oi, what'cha workin' on? You look right zonked this morning," I playfully saluted Angela in the doorway before blinking twice over to the table topped with tons of medical supplies, scanning the mediocre lab over as I always do and seeing the Caduceus staff idle on a rack behind the doctor. Mercy caught onto my game pretty quickly, after a good 5 rounds of it actually, sighing and mumbling something under her breath as she looked me down sternly. I cocked my head to the side like a curious puppy, smiling an innocent smile and hoping a large bead of sweat wouldn't form like in those Saturday early morning cartoons I used to watch as a young chap.

"Why so serious, I'm just checkin' in on my friends! Somethin' the matter with that?" "Are you injured? Unless you are, as you seem to be perfectly healthy, please check up on the others instead," "I wanna hang with you though! That's why I'm 'ere, swotting this medic stuff all day ain't healthy." Her face was cradled by her palm, shrugging shoulders making her sigh as clear as her irritation.

"Oh, _meine Güte_. Tracer, if this is another lecture on Gérard's wife, I've heard it enough to recite it word for word!" I physically cringed at hearing our ex-Talon thwarting chief's name, remorse washing over me sided by guilt over falling head over heels in love with his wife during his time here and after.

_Who could deny such a beaut that was Amélie Lacroix?_

"Look 'ere Angela, you said you joined Overwatch despite the violent nature it's had to take, so you could help any and everyone right?" I quizzed, tilting my head upwards to compensate for the three inch difference between my Swiss comrade and I, eyebrows knitted together as I searched for a slip in her stern attitude. "That is indeed true, but," I cut off her sentence midway, "What excludes Amélie from that statement then, eh? She's just as much up and kicking as the lot of us! 'Tis your job to help her too, you know."

I waited for some sort of sign to appear on her milky face; A twist of apathetic distortion, empathetic disagreement, an unwavering stare even and yet..her expression instead shifted to that of a sympathetic mother. Her tone softened as did her eyes, looking dead center into mine. "Lena, she may be very well alive, but the difference is our hearts?..They beat, but _Widowmaker's_ does not. She's _dead_ more than she is alive,  _mein unschuldiges Kind_."

 

* * *

 

I recall my own heartbeat slacking as my blood nearly ran cold upon hearing those words come out so easily from underneath Mercy's tongue. She'd felt this way all along, I just knew it, but I didn't have the heart nor willpower to say it quite frankly. That week hammered in the nail further, kept me up by the hinges to keep fighting for not only myself but Amélie as well..it also made me hate Mondays.

"Snap out of it," She must have shifted back into her programming during my black out, snapping her right thumb and middle finger in front of my eyes with an irked expression painted on. "Oui! Sorry luv, must have zoned out a little there, 'appens not too often ya know," I exclaimed with heat rushing to my cheeks, flustered and desperate for a change of topic. Pupils bore into my own and if I hadn't been sure it was impossible, scanned every detail of my  _soul_ , and calculated the likely outcome of whatever was going on in there. If I was in one of those Japanese animes Hana binge watches up at the crack of dawn in the briefing room, on one of Winston's many humongous monitors, I'd have had a big sweat bead next to my head. This lasted for a few unbearable air thickened minutes before a dismissing wave of her hand and softened neutral expression set my mind at ease.

_Whew, thought I was almost a goner there for a second! She was nearly calculating my every move for a second 'ere. Gotta watch myself 'fore I let that happen again._

Widow had opened her mouth to say something, but I barked up before even a sound could be made, in which she did scoff in expectancy right when I did. "Ey, since you'll be staying here for the next few days, 's that mean we'll be sleepin' together?!" There was so much enthusiasm and hopefulness in my tone that it surprised me none she'd seemed a bit taken aback, eyes scarcely widened and mouth tight-knit in a line. I suddenly regretted saying what I'd held in the heart so quickly.

"Oui, my apologies again. Lemme give this another shot; I don't mean to bite your arm off, but are we gonna be in the same bed during the time you're here?" I awaited a quick response, watching the woman before me avert her attention to the floor, as if pondering the proper answer or maybe even  _doubting_ herself. Thinking I couldn't notice, she gnawed lightly on her lower lip before stopping and returning her gaze towards me. The remark was quick, certain yet uncertain, emotionless yet rich with something I can't quite put my finger on. "If that's what you want and will allow, then I suppose so."

## |Amélie's POV|

A wide-set smile spread across her face, defining her features as it usually does, however this did not fit the category of her typical impetuous bubbly grins: This one was that of a settled, gleeful girl with fulfilled dreams.  _Perhaps she's thought of this before?..Non, I am thinking too much. All of these emotions are new to me, anyhow. I will not question it, yet._

There is a sense of new found freedom that being beside Lena Oxton gives me, a refreshingly unfamiliar result of company. Talon has explicitly instructed me to take caution of wandering thoughts, demanded I stick to working my line of profession without inquiries because it was not my job to ask questions. My job is to shoot, to confirm, ensure my prey no longer has a beating heart. Whilst under Talon's exhaustive conditioning I underwent, I had the notion only a successful kill could commence euphoric transmissions, yet now my ignorance of such a feeling is no more. Initially, scuffle's between the time-jumper and I were just that; never-ending skirmishes that left the thrill of the hunt in me. Eventually, our brawl became a fluent dance we partook in as monthly became weekly and such transitioned into daily, the point as it stands now can not be considered altercation. Unless one's idea were to be tangled limbs and consequent embracing, with almost one-sided gushing, then we are no longer enemies.

An unintentional connection to this woman has left me very conflicted with my current stance, more analytical than my preceding time under Talon's wing. I would be foolish to doubt the underlying yet surfaced happiness, tenderness and sentiment I also feel with her companionship. A guilty pleasure per se, but the overarching feeling I get from the kill compared to her takes the cake: When I'm with Lena, whether it be by her side or in her arms,  _I feel most alive._

"Should we get packin'?" I heard the Britain chime, a small upturn at the corners of her mouth indicating she felt happy. This very moment, Talon's most lethal assassin stands  _armed_ before her with unknown intentions, and yet..she's happy. Watching her eyes dart around to either look at me or the room once I catch her staring, patiently awaiting my response, and I decide to comment on her high-spirits.

"You enjoy my presence, don't you?" A nearly-sinister smile teased at my dead-pan expression, watching her become instantly flustered with wide eyes, accompanied by a red tint highlighting her freckles. "W-What?" "You enjoy having me here, despite the risks. How..endearing."

One could assume I am simply a spider sewing her web, enclosing the fly (an  _irritant_ one at that) into a corner whilst waiting for the proper moment to strike. To those who'd make such an assumption, they are incorrect however they should not be, as an agent of Talon I should be snapping her fragile neck this very moment..yet I'm not. Something inside of me, possibly an emotion, tears at my conscience to finish the job because it's my engraved purpose although my heart says otherwise.

 **_This game of bait and capture ended long ago, complete the objective and let your captive run free among the rest of your victims._ ** _No, I am not done with her yet. **You have fallen victim to the very weakness she**_ **_possesses, Talon will have use for you no more._ ** _Disposez de moi, ils seront, then._

Amidst the haggling feedback from Talon's programming and whomever it is battling such in my mind, for whether I am Widowmaker or Amélie Lacroix is undecided and unknown to me, I decided to relieve Lena of her embarrassment. "I do not require much space, perhaps a place to put my gun is all I need and an area to sleep in," I informed the time-jumper whilst setting up venom mines in various locations, out of habit cleaning up smaller objects such as cups or mail strewn about her apartment along the way. I guess you could deem this the set up portion of my 3 day mission.

"What'cha doin' Amélie?" "Taking precautions, if you must know. Often attackers could be lurking around the city." The smaller woman boasted a smug smile so great even my cooled composure faltered upon noticing it, "What are you smiling about?" I inquired pensively with squinted eyes. "You don't want me to get hurt," The smile grew to wider proportions I hadn't thought it could, her tone evident with egoism.

"I could care less about your personal safety, Tracer," I spat her name out in a vain attempt to intimidate her, "That means you do care." Lena had said that so matter-of-factly, as if she had thought about this for weeks on end and practiced the statement in the mirror each day, a part of me believed her. A part of me denied it, but I knew it was true; I cared about Lena Oxton and refused to dare let harm come to her.

_What if you love her? No, love is a strong word, only to be used when meant and confirmed..I am confirmed. Would I mean it?_

"I will continue to let you wonder whether or not I do,  _chérie_ ," I was facing away from her as I said that, a small smirk on my face that dissipated once I stood at full height after setting the last venom mine, not wanting her to see but also because of the tensing of my muscles and joints upon contact. "Oui love, you're so full of bullocks. Chivvy along and admit you love me."

Lena embraced me from behind, nuzzling into the crook of my neck as I remained a deer caught in the headlights, listening to her soft breathing and feeling the lilting weight shift with each intake of oxygen. I've grown accustomed to the cheeky attitude, constant fidgeting and movement, blinking of the girl holding me now..I've never seen nor felt the girl bursting with life so serene and affectionate. This tugged at my heart strings from every direction, heart rate increasing whilst joy engulfed my entire being, and I felt her tighten her grip as arms slacked to my waist and remained there. I grasped her hands with my own and turned around, seeing her startled and curious expression before hugging her myself and subconsciously whispering a quiet, "Thank you," a lingering silence followed close behind and Lena responded eagerly to the sudden scarce sentiment. Hardly am I ever so physical with another being, only Tracer have I been so intimate with in my time as Widowmaker, and it must be a new glorious feeling for her. If I were to determine the repercussions of my passionate gesture, assumptions could be made that this satisfied the cockney woman's demand and desires in high amounts.

 _This shall suffice for now, in her heart it seems she knows I love her, perhaps for now she will settle for_ such. I just wasn't ready to admit it yet, but I felt and I thought it consistently. The doubt resurfaced,  _How do you love and know another, when you hardly know yourself?.._ To ignore these thoughts, I remained in Oxton's arms as time passed at an unknown rate, all that matters now is the warmth enveloping us both.


	2. Love and Fear

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> |TALON MISSION LOG|  
> LABEL: London Bombing.  
> TIME: 3:10 PM.  
> OBJECTIVE: Bomb the Tekhartha Mondatta memorial statue. Heart of King's Row, alight Omnic debate in city.  
> ASSIGNED AGENTS: Gabriel Reyes, anonymous agents.  
> STATUS: UNIDENTIFIED.
> 
> Love and fear, they both fall in hand.

_Oi, what's with me and wakin' up to beastly headaches?  I'll have to give Angie a bell eventually 'bout this._

I'd right be spittin' lies if I claimed to not have stayed up late with the French currently in my living room. Who wouldn't want to spend time gazing upon that face? Damn me for admitting it, but I surely would..and I did! We'd spent some time talking- Lemme correct myself,  _I_ talked and she occasionally peeped a word in or two. I'm a chatter box, I'd nearly talked her ears off before considering shutting my trap. None of it was remotely professional inquiries like Winston would advise me of asking, surely she wouldn't tell me any classified nonsense without holding up a bargain. If I were to guess right, none of the fellas at Overwatch would want me blabbing none of our beeswax at the expense of a bit of Talon insight.

"Before you ask, I woke up three hours earlier." There stood Amélie in my kitchen brewing some coffee I'd forgotten was stowed away in a cabinet, I was too tired to realize that meant she'd been looking through my stuff. Dumbstruck by her comment and the fact she accurately assumed what I would say, I decided to initiate conversation.

"D'you always wear that catsuit? Not all too comfy looking, love," "That is none of your concern. Isn't that  _insensé_ time chamber on your chest non to gratifying?" Widow sure is the queen of comebacks, eh? My bubbly tone, intent to badger her about her fashion choice, faltered as I shrugged off her response as if to say, "I tried."

I looked about my living space; A three seater brown couch sat behind a wooden table, accented with a small British flag mat smack-dab in the center of it, a modest black television hanging on the walls alike the color of dark sandpaper. Wasn't really my own place, but a inadequate loft I could stay at whenever I came about London in my business travels. 'Course I add my own lil' flare to it, pictures here and there of my favored colleagues and special events. Two of my prized ones are still packed in a decorated suitcase flipped in the corner of my room, stamps and Polaroid photographs littered about the object containing all my smaller bits 'n bobs. Back in my ankle biter days as an early Overwatch pilot, Reinhardt was going camera happy on the lot of us and snapped a picture of me in my light grey hoodie with the Overwatch insignia on it, helmet in hand with my hair strewn right a mess and the Slipstream abaft me. I'd decided to go ahead and snag the aforementioned picture for a quick look.

* * *

"Hallo, my puny flyer friend! How are sie?" Willhelm's booming voice and towering physique always improved my mood, if not boosted my optimism, a bright smile stretching wider than my default joyous expression.

"Hiya, Reinhardt! What're you doing up at the crack o' dawn? Normally only the Angel is up so early," I piped up with a chuckle much smaller in comparison to the bigger companion's booming laughter. I wonder how loud he was as a child, was he the size of a full grown man at five?

"Ah, you are amusing with your foolish comments! Ja, I may be up early, everyone is. It's a special day, you know?" "Aw man, check up day i'nt it?!" "Are all your cups on the cupboard? I wish! If I knew exactly why, I would inform you."

My heartbeat slowed to it's normal pace, adrenaline draining, relishing on the comforting news I wouldn't be hearing a mouthful of rubbish 'bout my health. Mercy tended to carry on a bit  _too_ long when it came to that, all in good cause, but when it's about a minor splinter caught in my finger? That's a bit much, right?

"We'll find out soon enough!" "Indeed young one. Here comes your blonde superior, right on time!" Golden blonde hair only belonging to the well-spoken of Strike Commander could be seen, slightly ruffled in a fashionable way as usual, entering the area. Sporting a grey sweater with elbow-length sleeves and dark blue denim jeans, black combat boots complementing the standard outfit, was Jack Morrison.

"Well, isn't this pleasant? Our newcomer and old German both up at the same time, this is new," Jack exclaimed, a warm smile that inviting humor into the early hours of the day it normally isn't accustomed with, chuckling a bit. "Oh how dad like of you, Morrison," I clapped back with a laugh of my own as Reinhardt smiled and commented back himself. "The Crusader is always online, my banana haired friend."

I nearly fell back in a burst of laughter, a toothy smile from the unarmored giant trying to hold back an eruption of his own. " _Banana?!_ That has got to be the best one I've heard yet, Willy!" The tears in my eyes prevented me from seeing the scrunched expression Jack took to the comparison of his golden locks to the healthy fruit, repeating it in a questioning way as if he almost believed they truly looked alike. Reinhardt began laughing, being all it took for Morrison to smile and shake his head.

"Kids. If I'm a banana, in that case you're _Free Willy._ Kudos to you Lena, for catching part of that in his last name." My calmed fit of laughter began again, tears overflowing as Reinhardt's expression shifted from that of an amused warrior to a baffled cartoon character, he really did look comical based upon Jack's triumphant smile.

"Well, Ms. Oxton, before we get a bit too carried away here and I end up with _Willhelm's_ Rocket Hammer mixed in with the flooring and my head, it truly is a pleasure to have you aboard the ship to victory." He was extra careful to ensure adding definition to Reinhardt's last name, aware of the knitted eyebrows of our larger friend hinting at the contemplation of really bringing down the hammer onto the nail.

"O' course, loves! It's been a blast already, and I can't wait to really get out there and kick some arse!" Soldier's smile returned to that of a more somber one, holding out a hand I gladly shook, "That's the spirit, kid. Let's see how you really do out there." I'd been flying a couple of planes in the past few days for the team, beginner ones though despite my unmatched skill, that's why they pulled me in with this amazing offer anyways! I really wanted to knock their socks off, and now's my chance.

"Whadd'ya getting at there, pal?" "We're ready to see you in action, that's what I'm getting at," I'd nearly jumped outta' my own socks upon hearing that. "Not to bite your arm off, but..are you telling me I can fly a  _jet_ now?!" I was jumping in place, adrenaline coursing through my veins actively now. "One's got to love your enthusiasm, kid. Yes, yes I am telling you exactly that."

I did a small cheer to express my joy in that moment, jumping in the air with my fist pumped as I bellowed a raucous "Yeah!" to my colleagues' amusement. "We'll get you suited up in your official Overwatch gear and you'll get started," "There is an even bigger surprise waiting for you at the door, my friend! Figuratively, I mean."

Hearing Reinhardt finally make his way back to Earth, I was shocked to hear him say that. "Are you implying you knew all along? Oh Reinhardt, you big dope! You've got to tell me these things!" "That would ruin ze surprise, now wouldn't it?" "C'mon you two, before I have to take the newcomer to the infirmary already for attempting to fight you. Mercy would be all over me for weeks nonstop if Lena got injured." An eager nod from the two of us and we set off to the flight deck, where my higher-ups stood beside each other.

"Hello, Lena! We've been waiting for you!" " _Hallå flicka!_ I have prepared your armor and such, suit up and show us what you've got." Angela Ziegler was the field medic's name, the first one to speak with her dwarf workmate Torbjörn Lindholm following second. I remember being greeted by another man, Liao if I'm recalling his name properly, Gabriel Reyes keeping quiet with crossed arms and a distant look in his eyes. He had a grimace that told everyone who looked his way to clear off.

"Are you ready to start flying?" "You betcha, Angel!" The doctor's giggle was heavenly enough to match the golden halo sat atop her bleached locks of hair, pulled back into a messy ponytail minus the large bit left hanging out. "Slow down there. Before you get to testing this baby out, remember it's just a beta we've made. I should know, I worked on it."

Hearing the words 'beta and testing' intrigued me, a slight head tilt showing just as much, with Jack adding on his own comment. "Here's the surprise you were waiting for, the one Reinhardt so easily kept from you: You've been inducted into Overwatch's experimental flight program, the youngest recruited for it, to try out our newest fighter jet the Slipstream. It can jump through time and give us a big leverage on our foes."

I've lost count of how many times I'd jumped and cheered, probably a few, it felt like a thousand. "Wicked! Gimme that outfit, I'm ready to get flying and show you some  _real_ piloting!"

Torbjörn had grinned and looked towards Mercy, nudging at her with his elbow like one would to the other's arm but due to his lacking size, only came in contact with her calf whilst saying "The ego and enthusiasm on this one, huh?" "Nonsense, Lindholm, this is just what we need to even out the playing field. Someone with her confidence will do us well." Urged on by their support, I was in and out of the nearby changing station in a blink.

"Like what ya see? This happens to just be my cup of tea, the shades match too," I proclaimed proudly as the rest looked on in awe and appreciation; Perhaps of me or their handiwork, who knows. Hands on my hips, I posed as if I were in a photo shoot and faltered my professional get up once I began laughing, slightly hunched over as I returned to full posture and waved my hand dismissively.

"Serious business, haha!" "Wait a minute, hold zat pose for me! I will get a picture of you to remember zis moment!" "Great idea, Willy! Mind's always thinking even if you are the strong type, eh?" Seemingly unmoved by the reference to earlier as well the stereotypical joke, he got close enough to snap the picture he'd wanted so greatly. Waving it until it fully displayed the image after coming out of the camera, alike an older Polaroid, he handed it to me with a large smile. I pocketed it and looked at the cast.

"Well, what're we waiting for? Let's get to it then!"

* * *

I sighed a heavy one often heard at a wedding, or some sort of formal event, riddled with melancholy yet fondness as if a loved one died yet a baby was born within the same moment. Reminiscing on the older Overwatch days has this affect on all the agents, all but one at least who just so happened to be standing in my door way. I almost jumped out of my clothes, hiding the photograph with both hands behind my back alike my rugrat days playing baseball with the boys.

_Many 'o the neighbors came around complainin' I knocked a ball right out the park, quite literally. I drove my folks and everyone 'round us right barmy with all the holes I'd put in windows!_

" _Bonté, vous serez la mort de moi_. Welcome back to Earth, Lena," Amélie stated with rolling eyes, sipping on her the steaming mug. She set it down on the counter, looking at me pensively with crossed arms, attempting to search for a reason behind my spacing out. "As much as I purely  _appreciate_ my alone time, I would like to have a conversation occasionally. Confide in me, what is clouding your mind?"

The woman before me has never turned me so anxious in record timing as now, I force a smile and shrug it off in hopes she's believe nothing was wrong. Despite my absolute bullocks worth attempt at tricking the assassin, she caught me in my lie with slit eyes and furrowed brows. "I do not take kindly to fibs, many do not, if I must remind you of that." I grew increasingly quiet, enraging a bomb with her already lit fuse further, five seconds later speaking up.

" _Dites-moi maintenant, votre folle tentative fut en vain._ " I'd no idea what she said in her native tongue, but based upon the sour taste I got from it and seething anger making itself apparent in her words, I assume it was along the lines of " _Tell me what's the matter already, you daft cow!"_

Sighing in defeat, I zipped up my suitcase and approached Amélie, her fury dispersing with content in place as she grabbed the picture I held out in offering. Inspecting the photograph, checking the backside before returning her gaze to me, she questioned "Is this you? Before the accident."

My eyelids spread further from each other in shock, widened and frenzied in comparison to Widow's cool composure and unfazed expression. "How'd you know?!" I fumbled with my words before properly saying this, expression shifting into confusion as a throaty chuckle escaped my near-lifeless counterpart.

" _Un,_ you aren't fitted in the chronal accelerator here," She held up a finger and added another with each numeral, meeting the new addition with the opposite hand's index fingertip.

" _Deux,_ only eyes as pensive as mine notice more trivial details. You haven't aged a day to the untrained eye, however I know better." Widowmaker's always behaved more analytical and robotic, yet fluid. The only one who could go toe to toe with that specific trait would be Angela. Perhaps Amélie too, who'd seemed to always know how an agent felt, or even scarier, coincidentally knew what you were  _thinking._

_Then again, Amélie and Widowmaker are the same person, even if one knew how to shoot one of the world's best sniper's eye out commission and the other didn't. I feel Widowmaker's rather proud of that, wouldn't ya say?_

_"Trois,_ I have been required to do some digging in your portfolio, I am a Talon agent after all. A _renowned_ one at that, _chérie._ _" That cocksure remark at the end had me fuming a bit, but I shook it off and made a surely vain attempt at mocking the French. "_ Well, if you want to get so bloody brash 'bout your rank there you can hop on out of my cozy home,  _chérie_." I'd intended to say the last bit like her, however it ended up with me having an epic fail as it sounded like I'd called her a cherry, and right now she definitely wasn't being sweet.

_I'd sure love to tie her up though like I do a cherry's stem, in pleasure I mean. I'm open to the kinkier stuff though, yeah? I'm sure everyone is at least once. One of my past lasses was into that, but she went a bit overboard..real interesting break up!_

A small humored chortle escaped the woman standing before me. It was hard to deny falling tit over arse in love with her simply watching the bashful way she looks at the ground as giggles erupt and fill the room. It was a very rare occasion to hear such booming laughter from such a quiet source, but certainly a treat I'd feast upon any day; The way she covers her mouth with her hand in a vain attempt to stifle and hide the laughter, golden eyes piercing mine when they look up at me. I could watch this all day.

"Cherry,  _mon amour?_ Cherry?" She cracked with a sincere smile, the laughing fit calming down to my displeasure. "Hey, I can't talk sexy like you and say that stuff!" "Oh, you're 'sexy' enough on your own, Lena." A mischievous smirk eased it's way onto my features, fond of the sudden tone change in our conversation.

"If we're on the topic of cherries still, I wouldn't mind eating you," I quipped with the brightest of grins upon my face, watching the skin atop her prominent cheekbones darken in result of a less humane-like blush. Her jaw parted as if to speak, however I heard a familiar ringing from my bedroom down the hall to the right. Winston had set up private networking and communication between all Overwatch agents, which remained quiet the dead line unless D. Va was calling me for some late night conversation. We would often go out to the theater, large buckets filled to the brim with buttered popcorn and humongous cups of soda pop trailing bits of evidence behind us, as usually our raucous laughter got us kicked out in 5 minutes.

Pulling that out of the equation though, all laughter and smiles were put to a halt as I blinked twice, a cyan faded streak serving as the only evidence I was ever once in my kitchen. Once down the hall, and another to the laptop itself, leaving one blink left without the risk of a chronal overload. Contrary to popular belief, I've got more than a few blinks: Quintuple time blinks, courtesy to Winston in retaliation to the accelerator-overwhelming Numbani scuffle, exist.

Two are reserved as clutch resort blinks, both came with a free chastising chin wag as well about that infinite jumping spree, too. This left me a tad bit peeved, however I of course understood the importance of his lecture, I was totally snookered at one point! I know when to swallow up the pride I've got, and it likely wasn't one of my brighter ideas to blink around consistently like I did, anyways.

I've been tempted to use these two blinks during my less rational moments, I love getting out into the action, but as a wise woman with glowing, sun yellow angel wings and ruffled blonde hair, thrown back into a ponytail once told me; _Sometimes, you have to play it safe_

Back on track now, however, I flipped the sleeping laptop open as the screen flickered quickly to life. I input the password, hilariously set as 'kn0b j0ckey,' and answered an incoming call from... _Torbjörn??_

Almost reluctantly, I answered the call and was met with a windowed webcam revealing Overwatch's dwarfed weapons designer. "Hiya, Torby! Looking grumpy as usual, I see?" I swear I could've saw the man crack a marginal smile at my comment on his expression,  and with it being so rare to see such I'd hardly noticed Widowmaker standing deathly silent behind me, observing and possibly gathering information to tell Talon later on. Torbjörn's almost-smile had disappeared now, eyebrows still knit together in their typical fashion.

"Hello, Lena. Athena had given me some information on an, eh..distant Talon Bombing, am I right?" Almost questioning who he was talking to, I kept my mouth shut upon hearing Winston's AI Athena speak up in her robotic, monotone voice. " **Yes, Torbjörn. According to briefly surfaced Talon files, at 3:10 PM in King's Row there will be a bombing attempt**."

My eyes shot wide open, leaning in so far it amazed me I'd still kept my balance, "What?!" "Ya heard the omnic..er,  _computer?_  Talon Bombing," "Where?! What time is it?" " **Mondatta's memorial statue, central of King's Row, where the vain attempt to deliver an EMP bomb was stationed earlier this month**. **2:20 PM is the current time**."

My heart jetted down to my stomach, fear and anxiety galloping about my intestines. Horrid mental pictures of such an inspiring omnic lying lifeless half way into his limousine, blue lights flickering a dull black. A large crowd full of agape mouths and shrieks below me. Widow's prideful sneer and contorted smile accompanied by laughter that left me baffled. The same day I realized Widowmaker was Amélie Lacroix.

_Death in one of it's purest forms. I can't- Hell, I refuse to let that happen again! Not to all those innocent Brits..not in my stomping grounds._

"What're we waitin' for? Let's get to it already!" "Sounding awful aren't ya there, for your home having a bomb threat on top o' it's head. I'll meet you there," "Don't worry 'bout me love, I haven't lost the plot just yet. Cheerio!" A small beep sound rang, signifying the call had ended as the window closed. I whipped around to face Amélie, standing in the corner and staring daggers into me. Highly likely she was doing that while I was facing the other way, too.

"How long have you been standing there, love? Were ya watching my arse while I was bent over, or the screen?" "Cockney as ever, even with a bomb threat, hm? Your sly remarks do not amuse me," "Sheesh, what's got your knickers up in a knot?" The stern unmoved expression began to rapidly concern me.

"That bomb isn't going to be your typical 'cut the blue wire,' it's specially formatted with similar colored wires."

_Bullocks. Let's add on the collywobbles and see how I preform then, eh? Great plan, Widow._

"Each wire resembles the shade of black the bomb holds itself, attached to the structure to ensure you either detonate the bomb  _trying_ , or cut the correct wire..If you achieve such, Talon will receive signals alerting their stand-by operatives to launch an attack. Thwarting their plans will have dire consequences, I assure you. Your rag-tag team of vigilantes have gotten a much lesser blow than most threats to Talon have, consider yourself lucky."

By now, most of my movement would be impulsive and fearful, as my mind was certainly in a much darker place than prior. The deadpan, cold and sinister fashion toyed with my mind and my heart.

_Should I really be trusting her to stay put in my house, without bringing a blade to my throat? Are we really getting off the hook Scott-free, like she's suggesting?_

As if on cue, she began speaking again, droning on and instilling more anxiety than ever about Talon and their capabilities.

"They are observing your every move with a hawk's vision, collecting data without leaving a trace of evidence behind in their voyage, similar to the fashion I'd merely watched you. The fluid yet clumsy movements driven by earnest anticipation, the bubbling fret in your gut, I see and know of it all. It only takes one in a million to catch you, and then the remaining will fall,  _chérie._ "

 _I've got to get outta here already, before I have a heartattack or get sensory overload from spam calls._ "Look, I'd simply adore having a longer chin wag with you, love..but you know I've got to get going. Bomb to deactivate, yeah? I'll see you 'round 7." I almost spun around, and then her words caught me.

"Wait,  _chérie_."  _Damn it._ "Yes, love?" "Cut the wire closest to your left, third row, then fourth and fifth to your right on the second row. They are a pigment lighter than the analogous shades, however you must have an observant eye to spot it." I was struck shocked, silent as the room filled with unease, probably only there for me.

 _That wasn't what I'd expected._ " _Bon débarras, et bonne chance_ ," I'd left the room after that, successfully spinning around and blinking out the door in two, the slam of the front door and swaying of jackets on the coat rack serving as evidence a couple had occupied this space. Now there was one.

Knackered, I sigh, and continue blinking between sprints to Tekhartha Mondatta's statue.  _She makes me love her, she makes me fear her._

### 10 Minutes Later..

I skid to a halt, scanning the gigantic clock tower behind me to proudly realize I'd made it to the city in record timing.In a hurry, speed and time acceleration shaved off ten minutes from the usual run over: Looks like living an hour away isn't so bad! Travel's real elementary when you've got time on your hands- or rather, I should say on your  _chest._  

Doing a lil' shimmy in my jeans, I realize King's Row is awfully barren today, unlike usual. Crowded laughter or chatter often could be heard from every direction, I've always rather fancied it about this part of London. You can judge by my personality that I like more joyous, boisterous activity. I sigh in realization, head cocked sideways as I observe my surroundings for the umpteenth time.

_Bloody shame I can't walk about as normal here, after the secondary uprise of Talon's bullshit. Shooting that omnic like that, who'd they think they were? I ought'a get rid of 'em myself and shove my foot so far up Reyes' rear end that- Wait a second! Jeans?!_

"Aw, rubbish!" I exclaimed angrily, dawning on me that I'd forgotten to get a change of clothes on my way out the door. So distracted by Widowmaker's near taunts, and the urgent business call from Torby, putting on my suit and signature jacket was the last of my priorities.

 _Clearly._ I grunt in exasperation and shove aside how fagged I felt, in my lounge wear whilst on the clock.  _Heh, on the clock, like time eh? Time's on me_. I gave myself a minor chuckle at that, hoping Torbjörn wouldn't peep a word 'bout this.

As if on cue, I almost topple over flat on my arse at the familiar yet rare sight of the midget working his stumpy legs to their fullest extent. The thickset, golden blonde bundle of hair braided near the ends and enclosed by two small capsules, frizzled and morphed into his mustache bounced and swayed with each step. Oddly muscular arms showed aside the steel gray armor housing his upper half, and to my amusement, faded dark blue jeans lied underneath the rest of his armor about his legs.

_Looks like he can't talk about business casual or anythin', yeah?_

"Hello, Lena. Ya find the bomb yet?!" He hollered out between bone-weary breaths, looking about frantically for the aforementioned threat. "Well, no," the shorty looked ready to unleash his molten core before I made sure to finish off my statement, "but I've got reason to assume it's likely that bulky black vehicle stationed to the left of the statue."

Torbjörn visually became set at ease upon leaning a bit to see past my form and spotting the car. "You scare me sometimes, Oxton," "Yeah, I've that affect on a lot of people. Should we get to disarming that thing now before it goes kablow?" I imitate an explosion with my hands, my smaller coworker shaking his head and muttering a yes at a lower volume than his usual pitch.

I blink twice and appear in a blue hue for a mere second, in front of the car, rocking on my heels as I whistle a tune. Torbjörn failed five times at opening the trunks with his bare hands. The first few times caught my attention, "Heave, ho!" He'd grunted loudly with each tug.

I continued my activity whilst my eyes were locked toward my left watching him. After a few more tries, the Swede pulled out a red and silver steel hammer, slamming it down with might on the handle of the trunk.

The _clunk-clink_ sound made a prideful, triumphant smile appear on his face, however the glory was only reveled in for a teensy bit. "We've got ourselves a problem!"

Fear reigned over his conscience, knitted brows yet widened eyes proving contradictory to each other, sweat beads serving as anxiety he refused to display. Miniature bulky hands propping up the heavy lid soon grew clammy, it truly was fascinating to see the tempered lad so worked up.

"Lemme guess," I begin with my right index finger over my lips as if I was cooking up some theory, head cocked to the side "All the wires are the same color, yeah?" For a moment, I swore he'd looked relieved, nonetheless a second later he was burning holes into my head. "How'd you know?! You aren't even over here to see it!"

Sighing, I responded "You've got a few wires to cut, maybe a compartment to open and you're done. No need to go off ya' trolley." The older Overwatch agent didn't seem too pleased with my nonchalant composure and shrug of the shoulders, he seemed about ready to drop a turret and Molten Core on me.  _Maybe a good idea to ready my Pulse Bomb, just in case._ Still pretty pissed, he's lookin'!

 _If I didn't know any better, I'd think he hates me more than the omnics right now!_ Torby was like a pitbull, friendly but could go foamin' at the mouth once you upset him, but of course I knew his barmy state was in good nature. After all, the way I'd found this out and how to handle the dilemma was rather scandalous, huh?

Lost in my thoughts, reality gave me a swift kick to the bullocks I didn't posses, a shorty standing before me ( _Hah! Rhyming, what a jolly_ ) with flaming eyes. "Now that I realize, you look just as intimidating as an armed turtle," "How'd you know this," He grumbled in a harsh, alto tone. I tried to non-visibly gulp, probably in vain, cheekily cracking back "Intel. Now, let's get to it already!"

Lava boiled to a cool on the senior man's face, a relenting sigh escaping his throat that set me at ease, knowing with the dwarf's anger that I'd 'ave a hammer jammed in my ear had I not told him my secret. Kneeling and digging about the back pockets of his jeans, Torbjörn retrieves a pair of pliers and frantically looks about the tangles of cords. "What cords did ya say to break, again?"

Shaking my head, I blink beside the man as I notice him nearly jump out his knickers, kneeling down and attempting to recall ( _Heh_ ) what the tinted assassin informed me.

 

> **_"Cut the wire closest to your left, third row."_ **

"It's only a few wires, if my brain's not lost in time. See this wire 'ere?" I pointed to a wire just scarcely a tone brighter on my left, hugging tightly to the walls of the oddly shaped bomb. "Yes?!" The Swede sounded eager, concern and adrenaline pumping through his blood vessels. "Calm your tits there, Torby! Ya may want to have a steady set of hands doin' this, snap it carefully."

His body rose and fell alongside his labored, paced breathing, eyelids thinning out. Although his attention wasn't turned towards me, his words were, "I'm used to this sort of thing, Lena. Need not tell me how to do my job." I defensively threw up my hands, apologizing and watching attentively as he quickly sliced the wire.

Nothing...Nothing! "Bob's your uncle!" Astounded that we didn't go boom the moment we nicked that wire, I did the smallest of dances I could whilst on my knees and leaned in to search for the next wire.

_Ah, bullocks. The bloody wires look the same! Damned crafty chavs._

Cracking deep into my memory bank, I muttered curses to myself that Torbjörn must've overheard, as he looked at me anxiously awaiting a new set of commands.  _What the hell did she tell me?! C'mon brain, let's not go dimwitted just yet!_

 

> **_"Fourth and fifth to your right."_ **

"Cut the fourth and fifth wire on the right side this time, Torbjörn," I barked out hastily as he blinked back in tune with the moment. Pliers stationed over the suspected wires, he turns to me and questions "You're forgetting something, Oxton⎯ _Which row?_ "

_Bullocks. Again. Which bloody row did she mention?!_

Gears and cogs rotated and whirred in my head, tiny bunches of Lena's blinking about and rifling through draws full of files deemed 'memories.' Desperately searching with a dash of tense pressure, my head was nearly unscrewing itself from my shoulders as brows knit together and eyes clenched shut.  _Don't take a damned biggie now, cranium!_ I'd been around Mei for much too long.

 

> **_"Cut the wire closest to your left, third row, then fourth and fifth to your right on the second row."_ **

It all came flooding back to me, my head returning to Earth as I spoke up after an extended time of detrimental silence. "Woo! I think I hit the wall. The two wires are on the second row, love!" A blindingly enthusiastic grin overtook my face, freckles dispersed about my risen cheeks. With a raised brow, Torbjörn snipped the pair of cables.

I jumped up from my seat, unconsciously having sat criss-cross, fist pumped in the air as I cheered and hollered. "Wicked! Score one for Overwatch. Talon's goin' home with their John Thomas stuffed between their legs, aren't they Torby?" A lazily joyous posture I upheld, smiling wildly at my shorter comrade until I felt the collywobbles rushing back at me again.

"Am I falling arse over tit 'ere? What's the matter with you?" I tilted my head akin to a nosy puppy, jaw going agape upon the unrelieved statement thrown out of the superior's mouth. "Lena, the clock's still ticking!"

"What?!" I quickly glanced over the London clock tower, 2:55 PM it read.  _Jeez! We did waste a ton of time for a bomb that's supposed to go off so soon._

.. _Damned Amélie! Of course ya wouldn't make it that easy for me. You owe me one Hell of a treat._

"Outta the way! Lemme see," I promptly exclaimed as I nudged Torbjörn to the left. I scanned over coils and triggers, miscellaneous buttons and what not. Nearly everything was identical, except..

 

> **_"They are a pigment lighter than the analogous shades, however you must have an observant eye to spot it."_ **

Four wires were in a knot together, all about five shades lighter than the rest. I snatch the pliers away and tug the cords the slightest bit, enough as to where I won't mistakenly snag another with the sharp end. I wipe the sweat from above my brow with my left hand, returning it back to the bundle I'm holding and preparing to cut the wires. Stricken silence.

 _One.._ nothing. Torbjörn's body jumps with the following cuts, more so as we get closer to the final one as he has no clue what I'm doing.

 _Two._ "This is mighty adventurous, Lena. This isn't another one of your playful tricks, is it? We've got lives we're risking here, that includes mine!!"

 _Three._ I ignored his prior statement, attempting to focus through the noise..I make enough myself, yeah? "Hey, I'm talking here! What're you doing?!"

 _F- **Beep.**_ My eyes widen, frozen in place while my hands make a mandatory attempt not to shake. "What was that?" We ask in unison, alarmed and frightened.

"Lena, no!" Whatever short sentence had coming was cut even shorter, as I hastily snipped the final cable.  _Four._

... _Nothing._ Another beep, and the lethal device shut off, displayed holographic numbers thinning to a virtual line and disappearing from the miniature screen.

For a few seconds, we remained just as stiff in shock, but alas I was the first one to get giddy⎯Of course! "We did it, we did it!" I jumped up and replicated my prior movements, fist pumped in the sky as I did a little dance. "This time," My counterpart grumbled.

"Aww, no need to be so grumpy, Torby! We did it, yeah? You were making a fuss out of your life, and you've still got it. Something to be happy about, if I say so myself." Torbjörn huffed and rolled his eyes as stocky arms folded, cuing me to use my puppy dog eyes I've grown well known for now. A vain attempt was made to look away, nonetheless corners being tugged at while the dwarf bellows a hearty chuckle. He clinks his heels in a joyous mannerism, as we dance about so uncharacteristically, at least for him.

 _Pang!_ My head darts toward the source of the sound, recognizing it as a bullet nearly nicking the side of my head. My eyes meet with another masked pair, clad in complete black and accented red riot gear, armed with an M-16 SMG.  _Bullocks, again!_

I blink behind the crow black vehicle in a fading cyan streak, having pulled Torbjörn along with me as he exclaimed a sound of surprise and confusion. Bullets rained past the car if they hadn't came in contact with it, somewhat shaking in response to the speedy impact, Torb quickly catching onto the situation and holstering his hammer as he replaced it with a readied Rivet gun. Pouring molten lava into the ammunition compartment, he nodded towards me. I nodded back with a arrogant toothy grin, pulling out my dual Pulse pistols and holding them up as the cartridges slotted out and spun, returning to their stationary position afterwards.

A luminescent cyan glow shone from my Chronal Accelerator alongside the pistols, loaded with 40 rapid-fire bullets. "Don't worry loves, the cavalry's 'ere!" I exclaimed cockily.

I blinked twice to arrive on the enemy's flank, running to the right as I aimed at the backs of our opponents. One turned around and spotted me, half a clip burned into his head that sent him colliding with the pavement, having tapped the shoulder of his fellow agent whom watched him fall after hardly seeing me himself. "Over here!" He notified his team, the attention cleared from Torbjörn's location and pinpointed on me, bullets hitting above the streak my accelerator left in it's path.

"You've gotta do better than 'at! Hit me with your best shot," I happily barked, putting down another thug blocking the direction I was running toward and reloading my pistols. "Oh, that's right, ya don't 'ave her here with you!" I giggled mischievously at the crew, my remark angering them further as I winked at Torb.

Torbjörn popped out from behind cover in the nick of time, a singular blink left as the timer ticked for my next one, building a tier one turret although one of the men heard the clunking of it's set up. I put the clip into his head, having to use more of my bullets than ideal given he was at long range. Hammering his turret, it upgraded to tier two and shot down three men quickly, hammering through the damage until it reached it's maximum 200 durability.

A Rivet gun firing from the front, and my Pulse pistols firing from the flank kept each man occupied. A bullet grazed my dwarfed comrade's shoulder, an infuriated holler arising from his direction as another hit his turret during the expression of anger. In shock, his expression shifted to that more terrifying than a hungry, spoiled rugrat.

" ** _Molteen Cooore!_** " He bellowed as he knocked his welding mask down upon his face, armor heating up to a molten lava red, orange, and yellow gradient. Fire consistently erupted from the exhaust pipes on his back, the Rivet gun even altering in appearance alike the rest of him. The turret appeared doubled in armor, a top extension firing bullets alongside the main dual guns, firing miniature rockets rapidly.

As Torbjörn underwent a movement and power increase in result of the usage of his ultimate, the Talon crew had their own upgrades: An enormous, armed black insurgent drove into the zone, directly in front of me given my cover was the Mondatta memorial statue. I darted out of the way, bullets raining down from the minigun stationed atop the vehicle, controlled by yet another Talon agent. Blinking around until I used my final one to hit cover behind a building, focus was brought towards Torbjörn who's ultimate was on it's last four seconds. Firing scatter shots, he killed or injured the ground agents as he stomped forward. Approaching the vehicle, I watched in awe at the experienced blacksmith facing something ten times it's size.

Firing default shots toward the top, he actively distracted the minigun wielding man, but not without attracting other undesired attention. The insurgent driver leaned out the side of the window, left hand on wheel as the right held a standard handgun, trying to align a shot good enough to hopefully penetrate Torbjörn's mask or armor. By now, my triple blinks were restored as well my stamina, running and using all three blinks to rush and assist.

"Watch out!" I warned as I loaded half a clip into the driver, and the other half into the passenger. By now, the other men who were merely injured by the prior scatter shots returned to begin firing again, the Molten Core having ran out at the very moment. Running back to his default tier two turret, the dwarf fired at each agent to ensure safe return. I looked down the street to witness two black vans approaching us full speed, looking back up at the insurgent, I see the injured agent with a shoulder wound no doubt from the Rivet gun.

Agitated and grabbing the gun with all the strength he could muster, the minigun agent struggled to aim at Torbjörn.  _How the bloody Hell do I handle a whole new group of these punks?!..I got it!_

Using my fingers to whistle, I attracted the attention span of the aforementioned lethal agent. A quick "Huh?" was all I heard before bullets rained toward my prior location, stalled time allowing two of my blinks to regenerate. One blink, I dodged an array of shots. Second blink, I was atop the armored vehicle to the man's surprise.

A tear was on the side of my grey hoodie, appreciative that I'd forgotten my usual battle attire as I truly adored my brown signature flight jacket. "Heheh! I got my second wind," I exclaimed as I threw a Pulse Bomb onto the gun. The man took a few seconds to long to react, caught in his departure from the seat as only an ankle was left inside until it blew up. By now, I'd blinked away from the explosion that luckily caught one of the vehicles driving up to the battle.

A chain reaction ensued; The insurgent blew up, shrapnel and flames engulfing the left vehicle that spread to the right, a skidding halt unable to stop the cars as the collateral hit the remaining agents. The crackling of a roaring fire was the only sound ringing about the air, exhaustion and labored breathing from both my comrade and I.

"I think I'll ask Winston to set me up a safe house out here, to be safe. They arm another bomb, you'll need me here," The dwarf finally spoke up. "Hah! I handled that last bit Torby, not you!" I cackled a few laughs, before catching a glimpse of his irritated expression.

"No worries, love, it was helpful having you here. You've been fighting for donkey's years, that battle there could prove it. Real impressive." A mild smile tugged at his lips, packing up his turret and dismissing our mission with a wave as he said "Goodbye, Lena." I waved in return, eagerly blinking home as I thought of ways to describe the scuffle to my mistress waiting at home.

_Well, mistress-not-yet at least._

### 4 hours later...

Amélie Lacroix lied perched upon my prior mentioned three-seater brown couch, likely reading a book some sort she found around the room. She appeared unmoved by my entrance, the click of the doorknob settling with the frame and locking, continuing to read whatever it was she had in hand.

"'Ello, love! How was your day?" I questioned as I sat down five bags, hanging my keys up on a thumbtack in the kitchen. "Mediocre. How about yours, _mon amour_ _?_ " "Bloody great, actually! Got rid of all those Talon jerks, turns out they had backup⎯A lot of it too."

Her expression shifted in the slightest, an uncommon sight that instantly worried me. "You okay, love? Looks like somethin's on your mind," " _Non_ , it is not great of a concern." My tone softened, approaching the slender figure who now sat upright on the couch, looking at me with emotionless eyes that sparked up upon my hands cradling her features gently.

"Amélie, you don't have to lie to me." She thought on my statement, looking away but returning her gaze toward me as she said "Are you sure it is wise to confide in you, an agent of Overwatch?" I shrugged before responding, "Is it smart of me to let an agent of Talon sleep under the same roof?" " _Non_ , I wouldn't do the same for you," "That's why it's even better I'm letting you."

Arms wrapped around her slender figure, aching and hungry for affection and touch, I let my hands roam a tiny bit as I hold her comfortingly..more so for my own benefit. The sudden stiffening of her posture proved this type of contact was foreign to her, driving me to want even more out of this small gesture–To make her feel alive, turn such a foreign feeling of love and tenderness to a common memory.

"The bags you sat near the counter, what are the contents?" She inquired almost mechanically, attempting to urge a change of subject I so unwillingly followed, only for her benefit. "Oh, right! I bought some groceries, as well some decent clothes for you to wear," Widow held up a finger in protest, however not a word was spoken as I cut her off quickly, " _No_ , I'm not letting you walk around all day in that _excuse_ you call a combat suit. You might as well be bloody naked..which I have no problem with, but you're teasing me too much. Now here."

I hand the assassin a modest black v-neck with a pair of contrasting light gray, mid-thigh length shorts that she looked at with unease and questioning. "Well, what're ya waiting for? Go try 'em on!"

I'd silently hoped she would dare change in front of me, but was not disappointed upon seeing her return from the bathroom fitted in some of clothes I bought her. They fit her form snugly, much to my utter delight, exclaiming joyfully "See? Not so bad, and you look..well...Bloody hot!"

Amélie somewhat smirked, almost strutting towards me and resting her arms on my shoulders lazily as she'd wrapped them around me. " _Merci, mon chérie. Je pourrais souvent dire la même chose pour vous_." Had I not been in awe at the sexiness of her speaking her mother tongue, I would have promptly grabbed her by the waist and tugged her as close as humanly possible.

"I have no idea what you just said, but whatever it was, please say it again." Amélie released a rare, full hearted chuckle that I felt myself growing fond of already, falling deeper in love with my acclaimed nemesis. This was something I'd thought impossible, as I'd already loved her even before her capture by Talon, once upon a time when Gérard Lacroix was still alive. I wasn't exactly proud of having fallen in love with my superior's hot French wife, not a day in my life would I admit such, but it's not to wrong to attempt taking my chance now, right?

We remained locked in each others embrace, my hands now firmly planted on her hips as I gazed into golden irises staring back into my own hazel ones. "Tracer, I must admit something," I perked up at the sudden break of silence, but nonetheless satisfied to hear her voice, "Lena, I should actually say. You are letting me reside in your home after all,  _non_? Well, I have a confession to make."

I remained just as curious through the dragged on statement, tilting my head as my gaze remained unbroken. "I knew of the backup trigger placed on the bomb. The third wire of different saturation? That was no mere slip, nor was it misplaced, it was strategically decided upon by our explosive demolition experts. You are a higher target on Talon's list, as are your fellow agents of Overwatch, expected to arrive swiftly and attempt faulting our plan. That beep noise you heard set off an alarm for our secondary team to, now known in vain, flank and eliminate the threat."

This was a lot to take in, physically unmoved as I continued to stare her down. "You're tellin' me this was planned? You knew about it, and told me nothing?" "Do not sound so distrustful, Lena, I told you what I could about the mission. To give you the brief description in our files would be without completely betraying them." Disbelief and anger began to fume, stepping back with what to her may seem like a pouting child's expression.

"This isn't betraying Talon? Telling me what you did, not putting a bullet in my head during my sleep like you did Gérard?!" Subconsciously, I'd realize that last statement struck a nerve based upon the pained look on her face. My voice was almost a hushed whisper by now, my composure a bit more calm as I visually appeared just as hurt as she might've been, "Do they even now you're here..?"

What happened next drove a sharpened knife through my heart, metaphorically. Translucent tears glistened as they streamed down darkened cheeks, which in any other case would be red had she been of a normal skin tone, blue tinted skin glowing just as usual with it's ever apparent beauty. It pained me more so to see her so hurt, I practically watched her psyche shatter.

I was struck silent, Amélie nearly crashed into me, embracing me with such despondent grief that I had to choke back the tears lined up on my eyelid that threatened to spill. The formerly stone-cold Talon renegade's body racked and shuddered against mine, forehead firmly pressed into my shoulder blade as her arms tightened around my form. It sounded as if she was trying to sputter out the words "I'm sorry," although I'm not entirely sure given only pieces of each word would erupt.

"I'm sorry," She finally managed to say as a lingering silence followed, until I spoke up with a less than cheery, but comforting tone. "Don't worry your head about it, love. You did what you thought was right, yeah? Loyalty's a good trait, anyways." By now, I was returning the embrace as I ran a hand along her spine, carefully pressing a digit into the soft tissue of her skin.

I felt somewhat like a daft cow about all this, I'd no idea who I was currently holding. This wasn't Widowmaker, Talon's finest sculpted assassin whom they efficiently eliminated their biggest leading threat super heading operations against them, Gérard Lacroix. The assassin whom dropped multitudes of innocent people and Overwatch agents. A woman who had the idea that one shot equated to one kill, etched into her mind near permanently. Talon's tool they would use only for their gain, no matter the toll it took on a locked away mental state.

The final realization cracked my heart, how impossible it is to truly imagine how much torment emotionally this woman must battle with daily, thoughts only allowed in her head otherwise she would undergo reconditioning again. This couldn't have been Amélie Lacroix either, the woman with clear milky skin, radiant with compassion and unmatched beauty. A calm composure with generosity and honesty emanated from her presence, significant fashion sense whom I shared a friendship with and secretly loved.

Throughout all of this unsure skepticism, I was confirmed of one thing: Whoever this was I currently held in my arms coming off the brink of heavy sobbing was the remnants and fusion of both these women, these beautiful souls with their own golden attributes. As if on cue, Amélie asked "Lena Oxton..who am I? Who are you?"

For some reason, this greatly touched my heart in numbers of ways I didn't quite understand. That was one thing I'd admired about this 'new' version of Amélie; How sure she is of herself, analytical and settled. I'd understood most of this though. "You're Amélie Lacroix, a thirty three year old assassin brainwashed by Talon under the code name Widowmaker, if you want data on that."

Had I not guessed any different, I would assume she was offended based upon her expression. "If you want my personal view, I think you're a broken woman finding her way, an extremely beautiful woman too. A woman who's gone the full monty despite all the piss thrown your way, and whoever you consider yourself to be is the woman I love irregardless."

Amélie thought over my declaration for a minute, the disappearance of the slouch in her posture making me painfully aware of the five inch height difference between us. "The British and the French become lovers,  _Qui aurait pensé?_ _"_  A thick accent overtook my senses as fluent French was whispered into my ear, arms brought up from being wrapped around my torso to resting on my shoulders. Lips parted, I couldn't speak a word as her head tilted the slightest and I felt plush, soft lips dancing lightly over mine.

Pressure was applied over time, the kiss tender at first until passion took rein and things began to heat up. I'd no intentions of pushing some sort of limit, letting Widow follow her set pace, although I would oblige happily to some good ol' 'How's your father?'  _Bloody Hell, this woman's got no idea how barmy she's drivin' me._

The skilled movement of her tongue left me damn gobsmacked, and although I've my fair share of experience with woman, Amélie had me beat when it came to the French kiss. It's originating from her home, yeah? I reluctantly separated just enough to leave our lips brushing against one another, still on the pull and craving contact, knowing the further I run this on the closer I get to trouble I won't stop.

_I've been told I lack self control, and Am élie's sure showin' me that's true._

"Think we should head to the bedroom?" " _Ouh là là, ma chérie_ , inviting me in so soon?" Blood flushes my cheeks, the rest of my skin pale in comparison to the pigments of rose red outlining the freckles coating my face. Underneath my jacket and tee, my shoulders were likely red too, as I'm a bit of a body blusher. I playfully jab her shoulder, nervous laughter erupting from my somewhat puffy lips in result of the make out session that lasted a lot longer than I'd thought. "I'm not saying that, Amélie! Well, at least not yet."

The taller woman winked at me, releasing me from her grasp (to my displeasure) as she sashayed to the bedroom, a set of undergarments in hand..the laced black ones I'd bought previously today. She's gonna be wearing that underneath her v-neck..what if she doesn't wear the shorts?

..Crimson liquid tricked down my upper lip, not realizing such until the taste of iron tainted my taste buds as my mouth was slightly parted. I'd been daydreaming about someone who was already in my room. _Please drop the shorts, please drop the shorts!_ I approached and entered the room, hoping my thoughts would turn to reality.

_Score!_

Mrs. Lacroix just so happened to be wearing the v-neck tee and bra, as some of the fabric showed through the shirt just enough to notice. Underneath it lied the matching undies I'd so desired to peel off, but I'll save that for another splendid day.

"Well, don't you look like dog's dinner," I exclaimed hungrily, although not in manners one would consider food related. A small chuckle pried free from her lips, "Of course, _chérie_ ,let us rest for now before you get too excited. I could have yawned ten times whilst changing so swiftly, come."

It was as if my mind and body were put into a trance as I followed her beck and call, a slender finger I'd went overboard thinking about already preformed a come hither motion, my feet nearly hovering off the ground alike the vehicles of our day toward the bed.

Lying down beside the assassin, she didn't seem all too deadly now–Just cuddly and shockingly warm despite her body temperature being reduced thanks to Talon's (now faulty) neural reconditioning. Thankfully, the lights remained shut off throughout the course of the day, so I could bask in the glory of spooning the spider in my bed without disruption.

" _Bonne nuit, ma chère Lena,_ " Were the last words faintly whispered throughout the silence of night, subtracting the chirping of crickets and rustle of tree branches grazing against one another, before we synchronously fall into a deep slumber. 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Woo! Finally completed chapter two, I spent the entire day on this; I was on a ROLL. Even writing between commercials whilst watching TWD, which is new. Hope you all enjoy, leave some kudos and perhaps even a comment if you did. :D
> 
> Author's Note: No, the experiments done on Widow aren't reversed. This won't be one of those all fluff no plot, she's back to normal type writings. She won't be returning to Amelie, although to Lena as of now she's close to herself, given she's seeing parts of who she used to be. How she will view Widowmaker I won't spoil, although there is definitely some parts of her that will make Tracer question how much she's truly changed/will change.


End file.
